


The Statue

by HopeCoppice



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Innuendo, M/M, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Other, the STATUE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 15:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: Demons are conditioned to see conflict. Angels are predisposed to seeing harmony. And that is a conflict in itself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know - I'll update 'Carry On, Carry On' tomorrow, so apologies to anyone waiting for that, but I wanted to get some random fluff up.

The statue is, perhaps, a little on the nose. It's a scene of mortal combat between good and evil - with evil triumphing, of course. The demon has his adversary completely at his mercy, his arm wrenched back and his body trapped between the demon's strong thighs. It is a demonstration of Hell's power, of the inevitable outcome of the war. It is _ violence_, and _ wrath_, and _ vengeance_.

And when Aziraphale sees it, Crowley watches his face flush. As the angel draws closer, his tongue flicks out to moisten his lips, and Crowley sees that, too. It's baffling; for a soldier in God's own army, Aziraphale has always seemed rather averse to violence. But _ this_, this statue that represents his own side's defeat, _ this _seems to have an effect on him that is anything but negative.

"Crowley," the angel whispers, one hand reaching as if to trace the statue's reddened wings- and then he stops, turning on him, voice suddenly stern. "Crowley, this is _ incredibly _inappropriate! What if Hell had seen it?"

"Er… they have." At least, Hastur and Ligur stopped in a few years back, and they thought it was great. They'd spent half an hour taking it in turns to twist their faces into mocking approximations of the defeated angel's, until Crowley had got bored and kicked them out. "What's wrong with it?"

"And they didn't find it suspicious?"

"Nah, I've told them all sorts of stories about our encounters in Ancient Greece, Rome… they think this just represents a normal Tuesday back then." If anything, Aziraphale looks _ more _horrified. Crowley doesn't understand. "Angel?"

"You told Hell we did… _ that_?" He's gesturing wildly at the statue; Crowley has to take a moment to be sure they're still talking about the same thing.

"Yeah." Aziraphale actually _ whimpers _ at that, his hands coming up to hide his face, and Crowley stumbles on. "I mean, we did, at least once-"

"_What? _ How drunk was I?"

"Er…" Crowley had thought his opponent had been stone-cold sober at the time, but now he's not so certain. If he _ had _ been drunk, it would be even more embarrassing that Crowley had always had to cheat just to get away. "Wait, are you angry because you're not on top?"

"I'm- I'm not angry, I'm appalled! This could have got us _ both _ destroyed-"

"Why? We're _ supposed _ to fight to the death, that was the _ point_!"

Aziraphale freezes, and Crowley wonders if he's made a mistake. They've come to his flat for a few more drinks to celebrate finally being on their own side, and now Crowley is ruining it by dragging up the past.

"...Fighting," Aziraphale manages at last, his voice rather wobbly to Crowley's ears. "Is that what they're doing?"

"Well, yeah."

"_All _they're doing?"

"Well, they look a bit busy to be doing a crossword on the side, angel."

"I mean - they're _ naked_!"

"Ooh, we _ are _ a long way from Eden. That's how wrestling used to _ go_, if you remember."

"So they're not…" Aziraphale's cheeks are burning now, and he seems to be trying not to laugh. "They're not in any way… _ amorous_?"

"_ Amorous_? No, they're fighting to the death, what's amorous about...?"

Crowley turns back to the statue, as if with new eyes.

The statue is, perhaps, a little on the nose. It's an eternal dance between good and evil - with evil doing the lion's share of the work, somehow. The demon has his lover completely at his mercy, his arm held an inch from an embrace and his body securely anchored between the demon's strong thighs. It is a demonstration of the demon's devotion, of the angel's willingness to be led. It is _ lust_, and _ longing_, and _ love. _

"Oh," Crowley croaks, and Aziraphale finally succumbs to his laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

Aziraphale abruptly realises, as he wipes the last tears of laughter from his eyes, that Crowley isn't laughing. He hasn't even moved, in fact, still staring at the statue in something akin to horror.

"It's all right, Crowley. I'm just teasing, I know we're not-"

"Oh, _ shit_.” Crowley takes two steps backwards, bumps into Aziraphale, and jumps. “Shit. Sorry.”

“No harm done, my dear. Come on, let’s get you to that monstrosity you call a sofa.” The demon nods vaguely and allows himself to be led. Aziraphale sits him down and perches beside him. “Now, what’s got you so flustered? I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your statue for you-”

“No.”

“It was immature, and-”

“I commissioned it.” Crowley sighs. “Years ago, centuries. We wrestled, remember, because both sides were breathing down our necks about how we should be _ fighting_-”

“-and neither of us fancied a discorporation. Yes, I remember _ that_. I don’t remember it quite the same way you do, apparently. I seem to remember you throwing a dustcloud at me and running for the hills before we could get into anything like _ that _position.”

Crowley mutters something Aziraphale doesn’t quite catch, then clears his throat and starts again. “Yeah, well, I commissioned it. Spent ages with the sculptor, talking about the fight - like I was a fan, you know - mentioned the wings at the last minute and he got a bit huffy about trying to fit them in. Said he was going to do one with, one without, which, you know, fine. Got to talking about, well, the fighters. I think he caught on pretty quickly that I wasn’t a spectator.”

“Right. And that’s why you’re suddenly all…” He gestures vaguely at Crowley. “Squirmy?”

“Snake,” Crowley shrugged, but then he shook his head. “He was nervous, showing me the design. Seemed to think I might take offence. All this time, it’s been that obvious? I... I thought it was a beautiful piece, that’s all. Really showed the intensity of the fight.”

“It’s certainly intense.”

“How is it that I commission a statue of the two of us beating each other up - of me beating _ you _ up, specifically - and you look at it and just see _ love_?” He sneers the word, but Aziraphale can see the fear in his eyes.

“I suppose…” He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that the sculptor picked up on something unspoken?”

“Unspoken?” Crowley stares at him for a moment. “No, I definitely- I told him _ all about _ us, apart from the bit where we’re supernatural entities. Of course I told him-” He goes quiet, and Aziraphale frowns.

“You told him…” He doesn’t bother pretending not to know what Crowley means; he’s known for centuries that his demon loves him, and now that they’re free, there’s no reason to pretend otherwise. “But you never told _ me_.”

“Didn’t I?” Crowley sighs unhappily. “I thought- well, I thought you knew. All that tempting, and lunches, and- and you said I went too _fast_ for you-”

“That night, the way you looked at me…” Aziraphale closes his eyes; he remembers it like it was yesterday. “I thought if we went anywhere together, we might end up in… well, _ that _position.” He flaps a hand in the vague direction of the statue. “That- wouldn’t have been a good idea, at the time. Besides, you had Holy Water to lock away.”

He doesn’t realise what he’s said until he opens his eyes again to find Crowley much closer. He’s tucked his sunglasses into his pocket, revealing those entrancing golden eyes Aziraphale finds so fascinating.

“At the time?” He leans in, closer still, and Aziraphale licks his lips, mostly in an attempt to stop himself from licking Crowley’s. “How about now?”

“Well, I think the rules are out of the window now, aren’t they?” He takes a deep breath and forces himself to hold Crowley’s gaze, even though it feels as though it might burn him. “No reason not to tell you I love you.”

Crowley might as well have been doused in Holy Water, judging by his expression, but there’s no mistaking the joy there as he surges forwards to claim Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale meets him hungrily, six thousand years of longing fulfilled at last. Or… _ nearly _fulfilled.

“Just to be clear,” he murmured, “_I _came out on top in that fight.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Crowley doesn't seem offended; in fact, Aziraphale doesn’t think the demon could look happier if he tried. “Rematch?”

“Any time,” Aziraphale tells him, and draws him into another kiss.


End file.
